Writing left handed

Bundle of Boy

Twerking Mom

It’s 6:00am. And you don’t even mind that it’s 6:00am because 6:00am is better than 5:00am, and what’s more, your little bundle of joy is— at 6 months— an actual joy now, just as all those pastel-hued and deceptively tranquil Hallmark cards promised.

You’ve gotten through the delivery of said bundle (excruciating), the leaky boobs (mortifying), the round the clock feedings (maddening), the sleep deprivation (homicide-inducing), and the complete and utter panic over things about which you used to be able to think rationally… way back when before the hormones took over and the #mombrain set in.

But it’s all been worth it, because there’s nothing better than that first smile of the morning. It’s so full of hope— the very picture of innocence— and you find yourself thinking, “This is it. This is joy of motherhood that everyone’s been talking about.”

But then you look down and realize…

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